Writing and raising children in the leafy London suburbs

The most exciting thing happened last night, when I carried a large cupboard home on my back.

The Lovely Melanie had bought it on eBay from a seller just round the corner and – since we don’t own a car – the whole family trekked round there in the dark to collect it as soon as I got home from work.

New cupboard at a jaunty angle

The cupboard wasn’t that heavy, just an awkward shape. The Lovely Melanie and I tried to carry it between us – regularly shouting at Amber to move out of the way if she didn’t want to get either squashed or whacked in the face – but in the end the easiest way was for me to hoist it onto my shoulders and carry it alone.

“What is this for?” I asked the Lovely Melanie.

“To replace that horrible metal laundry basket at the top of the stairs.”

“It’s too big,” I replied.

“It’ll be fine,” she smiled.

We took it to the top of the stairs.

“It’s too big,” I said.

“What if we turn it round?” she asked.

We turned it round.

“It’s too big,” I said.

“Bugger,” she said.

“We could it use to put the TV on,” I suggested, helpfully.

“No, I don’t want to do that,” she said.

“Let’s give it a try before we chop it up for firewood,” I insisted.

We put it in the corner, replacing the wobbly 1970s-style TV unit we’d found in the attic.

We all inhabit a house on the edge of London, and I make a living as a copywriter in the centre of town.

It's been a turbulent few years - tragedy struck early in 2011 when my younger brother died very suddenly and unexpectedly. We're still recovering from that.
My dad had a heart transplant in 2008. He's still alive and doing very well indeed.